


Epidemic

by ancalime8301



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-21
Updated: 2009-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo and Frodo find themselves in the midst of a disease outbreak at Brandy Hall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epidemic

**Author's Note:**

> While I tried to make the epidemiology aspects realistic and believable, I don't claim to have it totally right -that's why I didn't use a real disease. ;) The idea for this one has existed since 16 December 2002, as I was intrigued by the Great Plague that was included in M-E history and wanted to write something related, but I didn't start pursuing it until March '07.

The cold, swirling fog hung thickly, the lantern's meagre light only reaching a pace or two ahead of them, and Bilbo tried not to show how anxious he was. He'd taken this route from the ferry to Brandy Hall many times, as he shunned roads whenever possible while wandering, but this kind of fog could get a hobbit seriously lost. If he'd had any idea it was this bad, they would have used the road, but there was only the smallest touch of fog at the river, so he couldn't have known. There was a jerk on his coat-tail as Frodo stumbled -he had the lad grab hold so they wouldn't be separated- and he paused a moment. "Everything all right?"

"Yes, uncle," Frodo said a bit breathlessly. "I found a root, is all."

"We should be there soon," Bilbo reassured him (and himself), lowering the lantern so he could search for any sign of light ahead. He thought he saw a faint glimmer, and quickened his steps.

There was, indeed, a light, but only one, and Bilbo wondered if they'd inadvertently stumbled upon one of the smaller homesteads scattered in these parts. But no, the shadowy shape of Buck Hill rose up behind the lamp, and the fog cleared just enough to see Brandy Hall's familiar yard. A few chickens pecked at the cobbles, clucking, but the yard was otherwise uninhabited. Unless it was far later in the night than Bilbo thought, there should still be hobbits finishing care of the animals and conversing over a pipe and a mug of ale. There should be far more lamps lit, with light spilling out of the windows as well.

A deserted yard. A dark hall. What did it mean? All was well a fortnight ago when he and Frodo had departed for Bag End following the conclusion of Yule festivities -Frodo's post-Yule visit to Bag End had become a bit of a tradition in the seven years since his parents died- so what could have happened in two weeks?

Only one way to find out. Bilbo strode up to the door with the lamp and, finding it locked, knocked firmly. Frodo hung back, uneasy though neither of them had voiced their fears that something was terribly wrong, and watched silently, eyes wide.

A voice came from within. "Leave the supplies on the step, and go out by the south gate. I'm not opening this door until I see you leave."

Bilbo eyed the door askance. "Beg pardon?" he said, flabbergasted.

"Put what you've got on the step and go out the south gate," the female voice repeated, slightly emphasizing every word as if explaining it to a faunt.

"This is Bilbo Baggins, returning with Frodo. What is this nonsense about leaving things on the step?"

A face appeared in the small window next to the door -well, most of a face, as everything below the eyes was obscured by a handkerchief- and Frodo thought he recognized Nora, one of the housekeepers.

"Bless me, it is you! But Mr. Baggins, what are you doing here, and with Master Frodo? The roads should be blocked!"

"We didn't come by the road -we went cross-country from the ferry. Why are the roads blocked?" Bilbo asked, even more puzzled than before.

"It's terrible, just terrible!" she said. "Most of the Hall is down ill, and it's something terribly catching. The Master ordered the roads blocked to put us under k... kwa..."

"Quarantine?" Bilbo supplied.

"That's it! Quarantine. He didn't want the whole Shire to suffer. At any rate, you might as well come in. The lads minding the roads won't let you back out, now that you're in. It's a shame, really, to bring poor young Frodo into it. The young ones and the older ones are getting it the worst, you know. But Mr. Baggins, they'll be glad to see you. Mayhap you've heard of something in your books or on your travels that can help us. Healer Goodbody is at his wits' end," Nora babbled as she unlocked the door and waved them in. "You'll want to tie a handkerchief over your face afore you go any further. Healer Goodbody said it might help keep a body from getting ill."

Bilbo and Frodo dutifully did as they were told, with Frodo using one of Bilbo's spare handkerchiefs as he had none of his own. Bilbo made a mental note to remedy that oversight.

As she escorted them down the darkened hallway, Nora explained, "If you'd arrived two days ago, I would have said as Master Frodo ought to go to the other wing, with the well folk. But there are few of us completely well anymore, and all are needed to care for the ill. When we saw the number of the ailing was only going to grow, we moved them all to the dining hall and the parlors closest to it, to make it easier to tend them all, like."

They had reached a dimly lit part of the Hall, which Frodo recognized as the main family areas, with the first formal parlor right there on the left. It was into this room that Nora encouraged them to peek, seeing a good dozen hobbits laid out, a random assortment of pillows, cushions, and blankets near each to make them comfortable. It seemed too quiet to have that many hobbits in one room, but the only sound was labored breathing and the occasional cough or moan. One of the distantly-related aunts was crouched in the far corner of the room, gently helping the lass there drink some water, but the girl choked and her coughing was the most horrible thing Frodo had ever heard. It sent shivers down the spine. He backed away quickly to see Nora watching him with sympathy. "It ain't a pretty sight, to be sure," she said gently, and guided them further down the corridor.

She stopped just outside the doorway to the dining hall. "Wait here a moment while I find out where Healer Goodbody is. He'll want to speak with you before anything else."

Bilbo peered curiously around the doorframe, but Frodo was perfectly content not to see anything more. At least, not yet. He had the feeling he'd be seeing a lot more before this ordeal was over.

Nora returned, and beckoned for them to follow her further along the hallway, to one of the smaller parlors on the right. "Master Frodo will want to wait outside. This is where we put the dead until we can spare some lads to bury them."

~~~~

It started innocently enough. A Bounder encountered a peddler stopped along the road toward Buckland, not far from the Great East Road. The hobbit seemed in bad shape, having taken ill suddenly, so he took the peddler and his wares to the nearest healer, which happened to be at Brandy Hall. It appeared a mere common flu, so Healer Goodbody prescribed the usual rest and liquids, and the peddler was put up in one of the guest rooms.

When the peddler was dead and the Bounder had returned to the Hall, almost as ill as the peddler he'd found a mere day before, the good healer had a suspicion there might be more at work. But with only two ill, it was difficult to say if it was chance or a serious problem.

The next two days revealed it was a very serious problem. The Bounder's case triggered an avalanche of sick hobbits, the healer among them. He sent a message to the Master of the Hall, not daring to go before him and infect him as well, advising that the sick and the well be separated immediately, save for a few to care for those ill. Handkerchiefs should be worn to fend off the bad air, and messages should go out to the neighboring farms and to any who had been in the Hall in the last three days that they should stay close to Buckland and not associate with anyone until the danger was past.

Master Rorimac dismissed the message as an overreaction by an overcautious healer until he went to dinner that evening and noted the number of empty places. In a hall housing well over a hundred hobbits, at least a quarter were absent from the table, and for a hobbit to miss a meal is a serious thing indeed. He immediately ordered that the healer's suggestions be performed, with the addition of guarded barricades on the roads leading into and out of Buckland to prevent those currently in the area from leaving.

By the time Bilbo and Frodo stumbled onto the outbreak, it had been six days since the peddler was brought to Brandy Hall. The ill outnumbered the well by at least two to one, and there were seven dead -including the peddler- with a few more expected to expire before the night was out. The effort to keep the sick and well separated to slow the spread had come too late to be effective, but thus far the news from the surrounding countryside was encouraging, with very few additional sick hobbits and all of them limited to one farm between Brandy Hall and Crickhollow.

All this Tosco Goodbody told Bilbo, looking weak and haggard, being barely a day out of his own sickbed. Bilbo nodded, and inquired about what symptoms he and Frodo should be wary of. "It starts sudden-like, with a terrible headache and fever. Then comes the aches and the absolute exhaustion, such that you don't feel you can lift a single finger or even an eyelid. You don't want to eat or drink anything because your throat is so painfully sore. The lucky ones spend several days like this, then the fever begins to go away and they gradually start to recover. The others get the cough. I'd swear on all my years of healing it was pneumonia, but it comes on too quickly. Everything else about the cough mimics pneumonia perfectly. It comes on within three or four days of the first symptoms, if it's going to come. It's those with the cough that die."

He took a deep breath, running a shaking hand through his matted grey curls. "Fortunately, only ten have gotten the cough to this point. But of those ten hobbits, seven have succumbed so far, with the other three still very ill; their outcomes are not yet certain. Worse, there is still time for even more to come down with that infernal cough. I estimate about two thirds of those ill right now are still within the first four days of the illness."

"Has everyone in the Hall come down with some form of the illness by now, then?" Bilbo asked.

"Not quite. There are perhaps fifty or so -not counting you and young Frodo- who have not become ill at all, but those are hobbits who hadn't been in much contact with the others until they were needed to help out in the past few days, and will probably become ill as well in the next day or two. A handful, like Nora, seem to have gotten a very mild form of the illness, which exhibits as a bad cold and nothing more. Everyone else is either currently ill or starting to recover. We don't know how long it takes to fully recover, as I am one of the first to be up and about."

"You look like you should still be abed," Bilbo said candidly.

"Yes, well, it can't be helped. While it's probably too late to help anyone here, I don't suppose you've heard of anything like this on your travels? I would dearly appreciate some insight about what this is, exactly, and if anything can be done to prevent it."

"Nothing comes to mind, I'm afraid," Bilbo said ruefully.

Frodo sat against the wall next to the parlor door, trying not to fall asleep. He half-listened to the conversation in the room, but his mind often wandered. He didn't see what the events of the past week really had to do with him, anyway. He had begun to doze when a bloodcurdling thought occured to him: Merry. Frodo was on his feet and scrambling into the room before his thoughts went any further. "Is Merry all right?" he demanded, his heart in his throat, interrupting whatever Healer Goodbody had been saying.

"Merry?" the healer repeated. "You mean little Meriadoc? He and his parents went to Tuckborough a few days after you left. They tried to come back after the quarantine was set up, and have been sending in food and supplies since they cannot be here in person to help. So far as I know, they are all well."

"Thank you," Frodo said faintly, dizzy with relief and slightly nauseated by the three forms on the other side of the room. They were covered with blankets and quilts, yes, but the shapes were still distinctly recognizable as bodies. And one of them looked shorter and smaller than the others . . . Frodo retreated from the room as quickly as he entered it.

Bilbo watched Frodo dash out, and asked, "Is there anything we should do right now?"

"Get some rest," Tosco replied immediately. "A few doors down there should be beds made up on the floor. Sleep while you can; someone will wake you when you are needed."

~~~~

Bilbo and Frodo were woken by Nora before sunrise; Bilbo figured it to be around six o'clock. Standing in the kitchen, they hastily ate a porridge of sorts before being given instructions along with the other dozen hobbits who had been woken with them. Bilbo was to join those who visited each bedside, giving water and a medicinal tea to the ailing, as well as assisting them with anything else that was needed. Frodo was to be one of the runners between the kitchen and those helping the ill, carrying water, tea, blankets, and whatever else was called for.

Frodo was grateful that he wasn't required to be near the sick hobbits for any length of time... he felt sorry for them being ill, of course, but the sight of so many of his relatives lying helpless on the floor made him uneasy. He periodically saw Bilbo, who seemed to step easily into his assigned role, and part of Frodo wondered who else Bilbo might have cared for, that he knew so well what to do.

Time passed almost without Frodo being aware of it, for his was kept busy fetching this and returning that. Then it was noon and time for lunch. Another group of hobbits took their places in the sickrooms as the morning group shuffled into the kitchen for sandwiches and ale. When they were finished eating, Frodo and Bilbo were directed to go get some rest, and they would be roused for the next go, which would begin after eating supper at six.

Everyone else, it seemed, had no trouble going back to sleep, but Frodo found himself wakeful, unaccustomed to this strange six-hour schedule he was supposed to be following. When he was certain he would not wake any of the other hobbits, he rose from his bed with the intention of taking his pack to his room, since he had not been allowed to do so the night before. He slipped quietly from the dark, silent room, and tiptoed down the hallway away from the kitchen and sickrooms.

When he turned down another hallway, he started walking normally; there was no reason to be cautious with the rest of the Hall deserted. It was uncanny how silent the halls were when there was but one soul in them. The rooms seemed desolate, abandoned by their occupants, though they did not yet show signs of the neglect aside from the absolute stillness.

Once he reached his bedroom, he quickly disposed of his pack, then contemplated trying to sleep in his own bed. But Bilbo would worry terribly if Frodo wasn't there when all were roused for supper, and Frodo didn't think anyone would appreciate having to send a party in search of him when every available body was needed for the tending of the ill. So he reluctantly turned his feet back toward the side parlor turned group sleeping quarters, allowing himself to dawdle along the way.

He was almost to that final hallway when he heard what sounded like a young child crying. Frodo peered curiously into each room as he passed, but saw nothing. Moving forward brought the sound closer, until he found a young lass curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, on the window seat where one hall dead-ended in another. She was sobbing piteously, though Frodo couldn't see any cause for her distress.

"What is the matter?" he asked, cautiously approaching her.

She only wept more.

"Come now, tell me what's wrong," he coaxed, coming close enough to put a hand on her shoulder. She felt very warm, and Frodo found himself wishing he'd been paying closer attention to the conversation about the early stages of the illness that was afflicting the Hall.

"My head aches terribly," she finally whimpered, keeping her face buried in her knees.

"Where are your parents?"

"I don't know!" she wailed. "Mama took me to Auntie's rooms, she said I'd be safe there. Then she and Papa left, and I haven't seen them for days!"

Frodo stood there a moment, debating what he should do. He thought he recognized her as a distant cousin, Amaryllis, who was around five or six and certainly shouldn't be wandering around alone. She evidently needed some willow bark tea for her head, at least, so he supposed he should take her to the kitchen to be cared for, and after that... well, the adults would have to decide what to do with her.

"Let's go get something for your headache, all right? Then maybe someone can tell you where your parents are."

She finally looked up at him with tear-swollen eyes. "All right," she said softly, carefully climbing down from her perch, almost as if moving pained her. She took Frodo's offered hand, and stumbled along beside him toward the kitchen.

They were about halfway there when she started sobbing again and complaining of her feet being tired. Frodo obligingly picked her up -though she was almost too big to carry- and took her the rest of the way to the kitchen with her nearly asleep against his shoulder.

When they arrived, one of the hobbit matrons who'd been pressed into cooking duty took one look at the lass and asked him sharply, "What's in your head, boy? She ought needs be with the other sick folk!"

Frodo looked at her quizzically. "I found her further up the hall. She just has a bad headache."

"Just a bad headache? Did no one tell you that's how the illness starts?" the matron demanded, coming towards him, waving a wooden spoon.

"N-no..." Frodo said meekly, backing away little by little.

"Now you know. Get on with you and take her where she should be!"

Frodo had backed into the hallway by this point, and he hurried as quickly as he could toward the sickrooms. After poking his head in to two of the parlours and seeing no place she could be put, he encountered the healer. With relief, he asked, "Where should she go? She said she has a bad headache, and I'm told that means she has the sickness."

Healer Goodbody nodded. "Most likely," he said looking her over, feeling her forehead, and manipulating some of her joints. "Where did you find her? She's at least a day into the illness, and is likely feeling very miserable."

"She was crying something awful on the window seat up the hall, there," Frodo told him. "Where can I put her down? She's getting heavy."

"Oh, right. Come this way." The healer led him to a corner of the dining hall where a few bedrolls lay empty. "Those that were here were sick first, and have either passed on or healed up enough to help with the others," Healer Goodbody explained.

Frodo gratefully put her down onto a blanket, then shook out his arms. Amaryllis whimpered, and latched on to his trouser leg.

"I think she's gotten attached to you," the healer chuckled. "I will go have the medicine and some water brought. Once I return, you should get back to your own bed."

Frodo nodded, and watched the lass doze uneasily. Healer Goodbody returned with the familiar set of mugs, and started to administer them to her. Frodo tugged his trousers from her grasp, and went to leave, but his disappearance set Amaryllis to screaming. The healer motioned to him to leave, but Frodo lingered in the doorway, watching as the older hobbit tried unsuccessfully to quiet the lass. Some of the others in the room began to flinch and moan as well, pained by the racket; Frodo knew then that he had to do something, lest those hobbits suffer even more.

He returned to the bedside, held Amaryllis' hand as he sat on the floor beside her, and immediately she was quiet. Frodo could only shrug at the healer's questioning look; he had no idea why the girl had latched on to him so strongly. All he'd done was retrieve her from the window seat! Perhaps that was more than enough for a lass who was missing her parents and feeling poorly.

Healer Goodbody managed to convince Amaryllis to swallow everything he gave her, despite her whines about her throat hurting awfully. Frodo watched carefully -he had a feeling that if she wasn't going to let him leave her side, he was going to be recruited to do some of the caring for her. The healer met his eyes once Amaryllis was settled down. "Are you willing to sit with her for a bit? Just until she's good and asleep and all."

Frodo nodded, little expecting that it would take the better part of a day for the poor lass to be ill enough not to care if he left. Until then, he had to stay close, always holding her hand or somehow touching her in reassurance, lest she begin to wail and shriek. He slept on one of the other blanket piles, pulled next to hers, and ate and drank what he was brought by one of the other caretakers.

At first it was an annoyance, being tied there to the one lass. But as the hours passed, she remained restless, crying out for her parents, and whimpering forlornly when they did not come. The healer promised to find out what he could of her parents, and it seemed they were among the early victims of the illness. Frodo knew all too well how it felt to be so alone, and found himself feeling sorry for her, which led naturally to not wanting to leave her absolutely alone.

So he remained by her side, watching and trying to reassure her whenever she seemed to need it. Bilbo checked on him periodically, patting him on the back and encouraging him to stay put as long as he thought he should. The lad's dedication to the girl was touching.

Frodo was the first to notice when Amaryllis showed signs of the cough, just over a day after he first found her on the window seat. Healer Goodbody's expression was grave when Frodo told him, and he urged Frodo to consider going back to his previous duties. There wasn't much anyone could do for those with the cough other than wait to see the outcome, and she couldn't tell anymore that Frodo was even there, he argued.

But Frodo stubbornly insisted on staying put, as long as he could. He would compromise and go eat with the others when possible, but otherwise he would be with Amaryllis. She needed someone to be there. So he would be. The healer relented and cautioned him to make sure his handkerchief was firmly over his face, especially when she was coughing, so he wouldn't breathe her bad air. Frodo readily agreed.

Bilbo checked on Frodo more often now, worried that Frodo too would become ill, but the lad seemed as healthy as ever. Amaryllis, however, seemed destined to join her parents. Healer Goodbody was distressed by her rapid deterioration, though he did not breathe a word of his concern to young Frodo. Barely twelve hours after first showing signs of the cough, the poor child already struggled mightily for every breath. She didn't call for her parents anymore; she never seemed to recognize what was going on around her. Even Frodo's touch didn't soothe the feverish tossing of her head, the whimpering after a bad round of coughing. The healer almost wanted to send Frodo away to spare him being there when she passed on, but he knew Frodo would resist, so he didn't mention it.

Though the adults didn't say anything, Frodo could tell his poor little relation probably wouldn't survive. On the one hand, she would be reunited with her parents before she was even told they were dead, which would save her a lot of grief, but on the other hand, Frodo somehow felt he should have been able to save her. He reminded himself that he did everything he could, given the situation, but sitting and watching a little girl slowly die makes one try to find some reason for what is happening.

She stopped breathing just before dawn. Frodo had managed to wave Healer Goodbody over just in time to witness it, and the healer assured him there was nothing more that could have been done. Frodo nodded dazedly. "I should probably go back to helping the others, now," he said, starting to struggle to his feet.

Healer Goodbody kept him seated with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Get some sleep first. You're useless if you're tripping over your own feet in exhaustion."

Frodo recognized he was rather tired, so he nodded again. "Is it all right if I sleep in that other room?"

"Yes, of course. It will be quieter there, so it will be better for you to rest." He took the hand off the lad's shoulder.

Frodo stood, wobbling a bit on feet that were half-asleep from sitting in one position so long. He slowly trudged to the sleeping parlor, and collapsed on the first unoccupied blanket he saw. He was so tired . . . and for what? Poor Amaryllis had died. He hadn't been all that attached to her before -he wasn't even certain exactly what relation she was to him in the first place- but after reassuring her and caring for her, watching her die before his eyes was heartbreaking.

He cried himself to sleep.

~~~~

Frodo woke once, disoriented. He peered through swollen eyes at the dark room, trying to figure out why he woke up. Seeing and hearing nothing, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

He woke again with the usual call to wake -a terse "Time to get up!" accompanied by a wooden spoon banging on a stock pot- and felt distinctly unwell. His head was pounding and he felt bone-chillingly cold. His first thought was horror that he'd caught the illness. His second, closely following on the first, was that Amaryllis had been right to sob so -the headache was simply excruciating.

It took some effort to get to his feet and stumble towards the door; Bilbo was waiting for him in the hall. "Coming, lad?" he asked jovially when he finally caught a glimpse of his nephew at the door.

When Frodo stepped into the light, Bilbo was immediately concerned. The boy was pale and moving stiffly; he hesitated in the doorway, clutching the doorframe and blinking owlishly. "Frodo, what's the matter?" he asked, catching Frodo's available elbow to keep him on his feet, for he looked in danger of collapsing at any moment. As soon as Bilbo touched him, he knew. He could feel the heat of the fever through his shirt; Bilbo's heart clenched in fear.

Frodo could tell by the look on Bilbo's face that his uncle had come to the same conclusion as he had, and he felt himself start to cry. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I-I didn't mean . . ."

"You have nothing to apologize for. Becoming ill here is merely a matter of time. Now come, let's get you to a bed where you can be cared for." Bilbo slid an arm around Frodo's waist for support, which was sorely needed by the time they made it to the sickrooms, as Frodo was more than ready to simply curl up on the floor, he felt so weak. And his head still pounded something terrible.

But when Bilbo tried to help Frodo down onto a bed, Frodo resisted. Now that he was here, he was terrified that if he laid down, he wouldn't get up again. Like Amaryllis. "I can still help until I get worse," he suggested frantically.

"Frodo, my lad, you can barely walk on your own," Bilbo reminded him gently, managing to get Frodo to sit on the waiting blankets.

Frodo clung to Bilbo's arm. "I'm afraid," he whispered. "Amaryllis-"

"You are older and stronger than her, and she was much sicker before she received care. If you will let us care for you and make you more comfortable, you have nothing to fear."

"All right."

Bilbo was relieved when Frodo laid down, and sincerely hoped he would be right that his nephew had nothing to fear. He hurried to get some cool, damp cloths and a mug of the medicinal tea for Frodo, ignoring all others until Frodo was settled. The tea was easily given, as Frodo hadn't yet developed the sore throat common to the malady, and he seemed more comfortable with the cloths on his brow, eyes, and neck. Then Bilbo reluctantly returned to his assigned duties, realizing that none of them could now be spared to tend only one individual.

By the end of Bilbo's time of duty, Frodo was delirious with fever, thrashing wildly and calling out for his parents. Healer Goodbody feared he would injure himself or others with his thrashing, so he allowed Bilbo to sit with him and hold him down as necessary. Some part of Frodo recognized Bilbo's voice and touch, but it was not enough to completely calm him, and he struggled when Bilbo had to restrain him.

Bilbo did everything he could, but Frodo's fever remained high to the point of concern. Healer Goodbody was not pleased, particularly since there was nothing else he could do in this instance; under normal circumstances he might have suggested a cool bath, but they did not have enough hands to spare several hobbits to haul that much extra water. As much as he did not like leaving the poor lad thus, the Hall as a whole had reached the crisis point of having almost everyone ill and very few were recovered enough to take over the duties left by their newly-ill kin. He considered it almost fortunate when Frodo was too unwell to thrash around any longer, as it freed Bilbo to be more useful.

Even so, Bilbo tried to stay within sight of his nephew, concerned that he was not yet beyond the possibility of exhibiting that terrible cough. The healer said it can come anytime in the first three to four days; Frodo had now been ill for two. He feared the outcome if Frodo developed that fearful symptom, for it had meant death in twenty-three of the twenty-four hobbits that had it thus far.

Mercifully, more of the surviving hobbits became well enough to get up and help some, though all were still terribly weak. This allowed Bilbo to take a moment to write some letters, one to Hamfast Gamgee to explain his delayed return and request that some specific books be sent to him, and a second to Saradoc, asking him to take the other letter to Hobbiton and read it to his gardener and return with the requested books. Bilbo hoped one of the tomes he wanted would have some information about this ailment. When he had left the letters for one of the messengers, he went to look in on Frodo before he slept a while.

Bilbo was pleased to see Frodo was a touch cooler, and he actually opened his eyes. "Bilbo," Frodo murmured hoarsely. "I . . ." and he began to cough.

Bilbo held him up a bit and gave him some water, hoping the coughing was only from Frodo trying to speak. It didn't sound the same as that dreaded cough, at any rate. Frodo choked when he tried to swallow, his throat pained him so badly, and Bilbo said, "Don't swallow, just let it trickle down your throat."

Frodo nodded, and had a little water this way. He had stopped coughing, so he tried to finish what he'd been saying. "I can hardly . . . take a good breath . . ."

This time when Frodo coughed, it had the deep, wet sound of what Bilbo had most feared. He held Frodo tightly while the lad coughed, and pressed a kiss into the lank curls when the bout stopped. He laid Frodo back down, for he was no longer aware, and tried to prop him up a little bit before going to fetch the healer to confirm what he knew must be the case.

Once Healer Goodbody agreed with his assessment, Bilbo stayed at Frodo's side constantly. If he was likely going to die, it was the least Bilbo could do to bestow on him the same courtesy he'd given that little lass. Not that he wanted to believe Frodo would die, but it was hard to see how he would be able to survive what had killed older, stronger hobbits.

  
Frodo's awareness came and went at will, but when he could perceive anything outside the dreams that plagued him, it was Bilbo's presence and his own misery. Sometimes he was confused, having no memory past his life with his parents, and wondered why they did not come when this other hobbit was always there. At other times he remembered everything and was grateful that Bilbo was faithfully at his side, even if he didn't fully understand why. He didn't think Bilbo was that attached to him, though they did enjoy each others' company.

Those thoughts were welcome distractions from the rest of his thoughts, the ones dwelling on how weary and achy he felt, how difficult it was to simply breathe. A few times he wondered why he put so much effort into breathing when it would be far easier to stop, but if he tried to stop, he would involuntarily gasp and cough, which hurt even more than breathing. Apparently it wasn't all that easy to stop breathing, after all.

  
It was miserable to listen to Frodo struggling to breathe, but the couple of times there was a hitch in the steady rhythm, Bilbo's heart threatened to stop as well. Invariably he would start breathing again, a little more deeply than before thanks to the coughing that got him breathing again in the first place. Then the breaths would gradually grow slower and shallower before the hitch and the coughs. It was a terrible cycle, but at least he was still alive.

Healer Goodbody was impressed at the lad's endurance; only the one who had survived the cough had withstood it longer, for Frodo was in his third day with the cough and the other had the cough five days before it lessened and she began to recover. Still, Frodo was easily the most seriously ill in the Hall at that point, as most of those who had fallen ill after him had relatively mild cases or had already succumbed.

Bilbo wasn't sure if he dared to hope Frodo would recover. Yet . . . he lasted this long, so why wouldn't he be able to cling to life just a bit longer? It had been a week since he first became sick; what was a day or two more?

The next morning the books appeared outside the Hall door with a note from Saradoc that the Gamgees had been glad to hear from him, as the news about what was happening in Buckland had reached Hobbiton and they feared the worst. Bilbo tucked the note down the side of the small crate and eagerly pulled out several volumes. Stacking them next to him where he sat beside Frodo, he began to search for information.

Naturally, it was the last book at the bottom of the very last pile that had a hint. In a treatise on the history of pipeweed trade in the North, there was a passing mention of a sudden illness east of Fornost with similar symptoms that swept rapidly through several towns of Men. It was called the Flux for its drastic variations in how ill it made its victims, from killing a strong, healthy Man in three days to giving a person a bad cold. After briefly checking on Frodo to make sure he was still breathing, Bilbo left, book in hand, to find Healer Goodbody.

Bilbo found the healer in the kitchen, and was persuaded to have a cup of tea and some scones while they discussed the account in his book and whether that might be related to their situation. Healer Goodbody concluded it sounded like the same illness, but without any more detail it was impossible to be sure. At least, if it was the same, then it had somehow made its way to the Shire from those remote Northern settlements of Men.

The conversation wandered from the book to the cleaning efforts now underway to pick up and wash all the bedlinens used by the ailing. As the remaining hobbits started to recover, they would be moved to the dining hall to have the lot of them in one place so the other rooms could be cleaned. Healer Goodbody expected that the quarantine could be lifted once every hobbit was at least two days into recovery; there hadn't been a new case in a day and a half, so it was possible Brandy Hall would be restored to its normal interactions within a week. It would take longer than that, of course, for everyone to be up and about and back to their usual selves, but at least those currently shut out could be let in, and those stuck here could return to their rightful homes.

It had been a good half hour, perhaps longer, that Bilbo was away from Frodo, he guiltily realized as he hurried back to his nephew. When he heard the coughing from the hall, he sped up until he entered the room at a near run.

Frodo had somehow managed to roll halfway off his bed and was on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, coughing so forcefully that Bilbo wondered if he was getting enough air between. Some of those well enough to be curious had sat up in their own beds to see what the noise was about, but Laurel, an older cousin of Frodo's (second cousin, once removed, to be precise), had come to his aid, crouching next to him and making sure he didn't hit his head on the floor or collapse and hurt himself. She met Bilbo's eyes. "I didn't know where you were, or I would have had you sent for."

"How long has he been like this?"

"Long enough to clear his lungs some, and long enough that I expect him to either pass out or choke at any moment," she said matter-of-factly.

"What makes you think . . ." Bilbo started asking, but trailed off when Frodo suddenly went quiet and limp.

"What made me think those were the two possibilities? I was in his place not very long ago. Would you get him back in his bed? I'm not capable of slinging lads around just yet."

"Yes, of course," Bilbo said, gently shifting Frodo back into his blankets and covering him once more. "You are the one who survived the cough?"

Laurel nodded rather than speaking, for she had to turn her head and cough into the elbow of her nightgown. "Surviving, anyway. I've yet to get rid of the thing entirely. If you'll excuse me, I should return to my own bed before I am scolded by the healer."

"Do you need help getting back?" Bilbo asked solicitously.

"No, thank you. It's not far," she replied, carefully climbing to her feet.

"Thank you for helping Frodo," he said as she began walking to her bed several rows away.

She half-turned and bowed slightly. "It was the least I could do."

Bilbo watched Frodo, but his mind was still with Laurel. He thought he remembered hearing that her wedding would be this summer, and wondered if her intended was here when everything began. At the very least, seeing her gave him hope of Frodo's eventual recovery. If only Frodo would show some sort of improvement, Bilbo would be greatly reassured.

  
When Bilbo returned to the dining hall after having breakfast in the kitchen, Laurel was in the bed next to Frodo and staring at him, her lips moving as if she were speaking, though Bilbo couldn't hear a word she said. "Is something the matter?" he asked when she didn't acknowledge his presence.

She finally looked up at him. "No. I was just telling Frodo here that I'm sure he'll be right as rain soon."

Startled, Bilbo looked down at Frodo, who seemed no different than earlier, or even than yesterday. "Oh?"

"He's breathing better than he was yesterday. Didn't you notice?" When Bilbo shook his head, she said, "Count how long he breathes in. I count four. Yesterday after he passed out it was only two."

Bilbo watched Frodo carefully, mentally counting, and came to the same result as Laurel. "What made you count each breath?" he asked, bewildered.

"When I was coming out of being that ill, I kept myself occupied by seeing if I could make each breath a little longer than the last. Sometimes it made me cough instead, but I knew I was truly getting better when the counts kept increasing."

"I see. And you moved over here to watch over Frodo as well?"

She shrugged. "I wanted to make sure he'd end up all right."

"Well, he is still very ill yet, and you should probably be resting. I'll wake you if there are any new developments."

Laurel seemed to hesitate for a moment, but nodded and laid back down.

Bilbo maintained his vigil throughout the day, and was overjoyed when Frodo's fever receded enough to be noticeable. Healer Goodbody warned him it could be a while before Frodo was entirely fever-free, and at least as long until he was rid of the lingering remnants of the cough, but he, too, was pleased with this small bit of progress.

It was another day and a half before Frodo was awake and coherent for any length of time. Bilbo remained by his side as much as possible, and reassured the fretting Frodo that feeling so weak and miserable was normal when one had been so ill. The continued coughing, while steadily decreasing in frequency and intensity, thoroughly wearied Frodo, much to his discontent. Laurel was an able comforter in this regard, having only recently experienced the same thing, and Bilbo was grateful that she was willing to soothe Frodo in a way he could not.

The dining room where Frodo lay, of late so full of the ailing and dying, gradually emptied of its inhabitants until Frodo, Laurel, and three others were the last remnants. At that point, it was decided that they could be moved to various bedrooms to finish their recovery so the cleaning of the hall could commence. Once the cleaning was complete, Healer Goodbody would be willing to declare the quarantine over.

Bilbo volunteered to carry Frodo to his room and insisted upon it, despite some protests from Frodo and a few of the relatives concerned about him injuring himself -Bilbo was no longer young, after all! He was more than happy to prove them wrong, and bore Frodo to his bed without incident. Laurel tagged along, and often spent the days curled up in an armchair in Frodo's room, going back to her room halfway across the smial only at night. Bilbo kept watch over the pair, scolding them both if he felt they ought to be resting.

One afternoon a few days after Frodo had been moved to his room, Frodo had fallen asleep so Bilbo took the opportunity to ask Laurel something that had been nagging him. "Where are your parents? I haven't seen either of them since we arrived."

"Da died last summer. Fell off a barn roof. Mum was away visiting her family when all this started. I'm sure she'll be the picture of parental concern once they let people back in to Buckland," she replied offhandedly.

"I'm sorry about your father, I didn't realize," Bilbo said apologetically.

Laurel shrugged. "No one wanted to talk about it during Yule, so there's no way you could have known."

They remained silent for several minutes. "Forgive me if this is a personal question, but are you the one getting married this summer?"

"Not anymore," she said softly. "My Dory was one of the early deaths from this . . . thing. He was a stablehand and helped tend the ponies of both the peddler and the Bounder that started all this."

Bilbo stared at her bowed head in shock. "I am so sorry," he breathed. There was nothing else he really could say.

"Well, it can't be helped," she said with a sigh. "Many folk lost kin from this."

"Has a list been gathered, or the number tallied?" Bilbo asked her. Bilbo had been staying with Frodo practically every moment of every day, so he had not heard much news about the efforts to return Brandy Hall to normal.

"The healer has started a list of names. He says thirty hobbits died, most of them from the cough, but a few were too old or young to last long enough to develop the cough."

"Mercy," Bilbo said in shock. "Thirty hobbits . . . that's nearly one death for every four hobbits in the Hall. I haven't heard of such a thing since the Great Plague of 1636. Do you know who else died?"

"Old Uncle Gorbulas and Uncle Dodinas, and my Dorinas, but I became ill soon after Dory died and did not notice who else they may have carried off."

"Of course," Bilbo said sympathetically. He changed the subject to lighter fare, and they chatted freely until Laurel decided she needed a nap in her own bed. Frodo woke shortly after she left, but didn't mind her absence. "She needs to take care of herself and not look after me so much," he said. "She seems so sad."

"Her betrothed died from the illness," Bilbo told him.

"Oh," he replied, and looked thoughtful. "That would make me sad, too."

"It would make any hobbit sad," Bilbo agreed.

~~~~

The next day the gates were thrown open, the blockades removed from the road, and Buckland was once again a noisy hub of activity. It did not take long for news of the lifting of the quarantine to cross the countryside and reach those who had been anxiously waiting to learn what became of their family and friends. Saradoc and Esmeralda Brandybuck and their son Meriadoc were among the first to enter Buckland and were greeted by the Master of Buckland himself. "It is good to see you, son," Old Rory said simply, embracing him. "Those supplies you sent were invaluable."

"I knew they would be needed," Saradoc said modestly. "How fare Bilbo and Frodo?"

Young Merry recognized the names and repeated, "Frodo? Where's Frodo? I want Frodo!"

Esmeralda hushed him. "Quiet, dear, let your father and his da talk a moment."

"Bilbo is as well as can be. I'm told it was a close shave for Frodo, but he made it and is recovering in his old room."

Saradoc and Esmeralda both breathed a sigh of relief; they had been worried they would have to explain to six-year-old Merry why he wouldn't see his cousin Frodo again. "Good," Saradoc said, and meant it. As they made their way into the Hall, he asked his father about the casualties and what exactly had happened while they were gone.

Esmeralda took Merry down to Frodo's room, hoping they wouldn't be disturbing the lad. Frodo was awake and very pleased to see Merry, who squealed in delight when he saw Frodo. Merry insisted that he must snuggle on the bed next to Frodo, and clung to his arm all the while. Esmeralda sat by Laurel and talked to her quietly while Bilbo and Frodo entertained Merry.

Eventually Saradoc came to find his wife and son and was not surprised to find them in Frodo's room. He was surprised, however, to see Laurel there. "Ah, Laurel! Your mother has arrived and is looking for you," he told her.

"Oh! I shall go find her, then. It was good to talk to you, Aunt Esme," she said, then left the room.

"She and Frodo bonded -they are the only ones to survive the worst manifestation of the illness," Bilbo explained without Saradoc needing to ask.

"I see," Saradoc replied. He turned to Frodo. "I am very happy to see you pulled through, Frodo."

"Thank you," Frodo said shyly.

"Bilbo, how long were you intending to stay on? You're more than welcome to stay as long as you like, of course."

"I hadn't given it much thought. I had intended to stay until Frodo recovers, but I never thought about how recovered he ought to be." Bilbo smiled at Frodo and patted his hand. "I'll be here another fortnight, at least, I should think."

"Sounds good," Saradoc said. "Has a bedroom been given to you, or have you been staying here with Frodo?"

"I wasn't given a bedroom, but I'll gladly accept the use of a bed now and again. The floor is a little hard for my aging bones," he said, and winked at Frodo, who grinned.

"I'll see that you are given a room nearby. For now, though, I believe it is time for lunch and we ought to go eat. Bilbo, did you want to come, or should I have something sent for you and Frodo?"

"I'll stay here, thank you," Bilbo replied.

Esmeralda collected Merry, who resisted, saying, "I wanna stay, too!"

"You need to say hello to all of your other cousins, my dear," Esmeralda told him.

"Oh. Bye, Frodo!" he said, waving enthusiastically.

Frodo grinned. "Bye, Merry!" he said, waving back. When his small cousin was out of sight, he sighed and sank back into his pillows. "It was good to see him, but he's exhausting."

Bilbo chuckled. "I remember another small lad who could have that effect on me," he said with a wink. "You should rest after you eat something."

"Yes, uncle," Frodo said obediently.

Bilbo sat back in his chair and looked at Frodo thoughtfully. He'd had an idea concerning the lad, but wasn't sure if or how to broach it with Frodo. Well, he had at least two weeks to meditate on it, anyway.

~~~~

It was more than three weeks before Bilbo began to seriously consider leaving. It had taken nearly a fortnight for the Hall to resume activities at the normal pace, and most of the other hobbits who had been ill had returned to full health or near enough that it didn't matter much. Frodo was up and about, but still tired easily and often needed an afternoon nap. He chafed at not being able to keep up with his younger cousins like normal and sometimes tried too hard to keep up, which made him short of breath, then he would feel ill and slightly feverish for the next day or two afterward.

One such afternoon, when Goodbody had restricted Frodo to bed after overexerting himself, Bilbo approached Frodo with his idea. "Frodo, my lad, I was thinking about something."

"What?" Frodo asked with trepidation. He had been fearing the day that Bilbo would announce he would soon be leaving to go back home. Perhaps it had finally come.

"Would you like to come to Bag End for a while to recuperate? The peace and quiet may be just what you need."

"Really, Bilbo? Do you mean it?" This was better than he'd ever dreamed.

"Of course I mean it! I wouldn't suggest such a thing if I didn't mean it. Would you like to come to Bag End for a while, then?"

"Yes, I would like that very much," Frodo enthused.

Bilbo was pleased with Frodo's enthusiasm. It made the next suggestion seem almost possible. "What if I asked you to come stay at Bag End with me for good?"

Frodo stared at Bilbo for a long moment, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly several times. "I-I would like that very much," he said faintly. "I would miss Merry and the other cousins, of course, but . . . I really like being at Bag End with you, Bilbo."

"Then you'd be willing to live with me?" Bilbo asked again, just to be sure.

"Oh, yes!" Frodo said eagerly. Both of them sat grinning at each other until Frodo started laughing at how ridiculous they both must look.

When the merriment subsided, Frodo asked, "When can we leave?"

"I'm not certain. It depends on how you are feeling. We will have to borrow a wagon to drive back to Bag End, since Healer Goodbody isn't likely to let you walk that far yet. I don't think you could manage it, either, and I'm too old to carry you," Bilbo said with a wink.

"I wouldn't expect you to, Bilbo," Frodo said, smiling. "But we can go when I am feeling well enough?"

"We can go when the healer says you are feeling well enough. I know full well that you'd say you're feeling well enough right this instant if it meant we could leave, even though you look like you'd fall over if you had to stand up for too long."

Frodo could see that Bilbo meant it, and realized that living with Bilbo wouldn't mean he would always get his way like he could usually do here. But that was a small price to pay to live where he would be carefully looked after. "Maybe we can ask Healer Goodbody about leaving in a few days, then. I'll be good and rest a lot between now and then."

"Good lad," Bilbo said fondly, patting Frodo's hand. "We'll get you home and get you well as quick as we can. I'll go fetch some tea for us; you just sit back and relax, my lad."

After Bilbo left the room, Frodo sat back against his pillow as contentment filled him. He never would have imagined this, but it felt so right. He was going home to Bag End. Bag End as _home_ would take some getting used to, but it was a wonderful thing to adjust to!

~~~~

Before Frodo left Brandy Hall, there was a gathering of the survivors in the dining room to honor those who passed on. A total of thirty-two hobbits had succumbed, many of them the elderly, like old Uncle Gorbulas, or the young, like Amaryllis. The somber mood lasted only as long as the moments of silence as the names were read; when the farewell meal began, so did the chatter, for hobbits were not well-suited to melancholy.

In the midst of his own personal happiness, Frodo felt sorry for Laurel, who still looked so sad as she sat with her mother at the table. When the meal ended, Frodo made his way over to her to say farewell, since he and Bilbo would leave the next morning. He hugged her and told her he was leaving, and asked what she would do now. She glanced toward her mother and said, "Mum thinks it would be best to go back to Stock and take it easy for a while."

Frodo nodded. "If you ever want to visit us at Bag End, I'm sure Bilbo would be happy to have you," he offered.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," she said with a small smile. Frodo impulsively hugged her again, then went to find Bilbo.

The morning of the departure arrived, bright and unseasonably warm. Young Merry fussed about wanting Frodo after Frodo had hugged him and given him back to his mother, so Esmeralda took him inside. Saradoc helped Frodo climb onto the wagon while Bilbo assisted from above, then watched as Bilbo settled Frodo on the seat next to him. "You're quite a pair," he said. "Take good care of him, Bilbo; I wish we could have done more. And Frodo, be good for Bilbo; you've caused your share of mischief and I don't think you want to be causing trouble for him."

"Yes, Uncle Saradoc," Frodo said obediently as Bilbo spurred the ponies into motion.

"We'll see you again soon," Saradoc said cheerfully, waving at the wagon as it moved down the lane. Frodo turned and waved back happily, then rested his head on Bilbo's shoulder. Bilbo put an arm around Frodo, driving with only one hand on the reins, the picture of happiness sitting there with his lad.


End file.
